


By The Sea

by myriddin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8593210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: Written for Jonsa Week Days 3 & 5: Sea, Sky, and Storm. Abandoned by her philandering lover, Sansa leads a lonely life in an isolated seaside cottage, until the day the sea brings her company straight from folklore.





	1. Chapter 1

The sea was restless, angry waves throwing themselves against the hapless shore, tossing up sprays of salt that stung against her wind-chapped cheeks. Sansa drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders in hopes of some protection against those whipping winds, hurrying as quickly as she could without tripping on the rocky beach, then the climbing path leading up to her cliffside cottage.

Though for now the horizon was only a distant line of nickel-silver, storms over the sea were known to come suddenly and brutally. She could hear the faint rumble of rolling thunder in the distance, could feel the heaviness and smell the thick, sharp scent that came with approaching rain.

Relief filled her as her cottage came into view, the oil-lamp glowing in the front window a welcoming beacon against the darkening horizon. But even the sweetness of that relief couldn’t outweigh the ache of remembering how empty the cottage would be when she returned, how oppressive the silence would feel when it was only broken by the sounds of the coming storm and not the warm resounds of another voice.

Oh, how she regretted every foolhardy decision her younger self had made. Her father, being the fair and honest man she knew him to be, was not being cruel or unkind in warning her away from Harry Hardyng. He had been trying to protect her from the sort of man Harry truly was. But the naïve girl she had been was blind to the dangers of handsome, charming sailors with a girl in every port (even more than one in the same town in Harry’s case), running after Harry with stars in her eyes and her dowry in tow.

They settled in Gulltown, Harry’s promise to marry her delayed again and again as he disappeared for weeks and months at a time on voyages, ever restless for the sea. So deeply in love as she thought herself to be, she shared his bed and kept his house, turning a blind eye as he spent less and less time at home, as he gambled away every last coin of her dowry. When the money finally ran out, so did Harry’s mask of devotion, informing her frankly one day of his intention to marry the daughter of a wealthy merchant, already several months pregnant with his child.

Too ashamed to return home, Sansa couldn’t stand to stay in the house they had shared either, couldn’t take the pity and judgment (and sometimes outright scorn, now that it was common knowledge she and Harry had never truly married) in her neighbors’ eyes. She moved into an isolated single-room cottage outside the town walls, earning enough coin with her mending and sewing to buy everything she needed that the sea and the small garden she kept couldn’t provide.

Staring out onto the churning sea, she bitterly hoped the lying louse she’d called her lover was stuck in the life he’d chosen for himself. Restricted to short, uneventful voyages upon his good-father’s merchant ships, boxed in by luxury conditional on his fidelity, surrounded by the “whiny brats” he’d so complained about and vehemently denied her.

A bitter wind whipped by and out over the water, stealing the few traitorous tears she had shed despite herself. With a sigh, she turned firmly on her heel, determined to return to the warm refuge of her home and push thoughts of Harry Hardyng far from her mind.

A short while later, she had made a few finishing touches to the stew she’d left simmering, and was slicing a few pieces of the rich cheese and crusty brown bread she had bought that afternoon in town, when there was a strong, staccato knock on her door. She froze, casting a wary eye in direction of the sound. With a continued grasp on the knife in her hand, she crept over to the window, craning her neck to take in the best view of her unexpected visitor. Her breath caught as she slowly comprehended what she was seeing, setting the blade aside to go and unbar the door.

He was long and lean, sleek muscles clearly on display beneath pale, wet skin left vulnerable to the sharp, cold winds as the only stitch on him was a dark pelt wrapped around his tapered hips. His face was much the same shape as the rest of him, his smooth jaw only emphasizing the sharpness of his profile. Dark hair fell thick and dripping against his shoulders, eyes the same color of the approaching storm-clouds meeting hers for an intense, pregnant moment, then skittering away as he shifted awkwardly the longer she was left speechless.

He cleared his throat, seeming to force himself to meet her eyes, the nervousness she saw reflected in his gaze catching her surprise.

“I…do I not please you? With the storm approaching, I was the only one of my kin to be close enough to hear the calling. I could find you a replacement once the waters calm, if you wish it. I’ve a brother you might find more pleasing…I’m told he’s comely, with hair the color of starlight…”

Sansa felt a flutter of empathy as she realized the insecurity her silence had inadvertently caused. “I…no, I’m not displeased. I’m sorry- you just took me by surprise. I didn’t…I didn’t realize I’d made the calling.”

The calling…the songs and tales about his kind always referenced an unhappy woman shedding seven tears into the sea, but she hadn’t….her eyes widened, as she realized with the shedding of a few bitter tears, the wind had completed the calling for her.

Understanding filled his expression, and he stepped a little closer, lips curving into a soft smile. “Perhaps not, but I feel it nonetheless.” He tapped his fingers over his breastbone, and she finally understood his meaning. If there was one thing the stories always had in common, it was his people’s ability to hear the ‘call’ of a lonely heart. And her heart was certainly lonely. “Oh.”

His smile grew all the gentler as he watched realization set in for her. “I can’t take away your unhappiness, but if you desire it, I can offer some respite. Whether it’s an ear to listen, a shoulder to lean or, or a warm body to stave off the cold, I’m yours for a time, if you wish it.”

Rather than the unearthly beauty and charm she expected from legend, it was his earnest, honest warmth that endeared her. “Selkie,” she said softly, reaching up to take his hands, “Would you wait out the storm with me?”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

++

For three days, she had his company. She drank in the rich, smooth tones of his voice and his laughter, the strength of his arms when they held her, the warmth of him chasing away the night’s chill, and by the second night as her comfort with his presence grew, she learned the joy of being with a lover who cared about her pleasure and comfort.

They lay together quietly, sharing warmth beneath a heavy quilt, her cheek pressed to his chest as she listened to contrast of his steady heartbeat and the howling winds outside. He nuzzled against her hair with a contented sigh, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I realize now I haven’t yet asked your name,” she said softly, a little abashed as she toyed their entwined fingers.

The selkie chuckled. “All’s well, leannán, we _have_ been distracted. I’m called Jon.”

She raised her head to give him a quizzical look. “Jon? But that’s…”

“A human name? Aye.” He coiled a lock of her auburn hair around his finger, giving her a wan smile. “My mother gave it to me. I lived with her on land for nearly twelve winters, until the day she took ill and never woke from her sleep. Without her, I had no reason to ignore the sea’s call. My father came to claim me soon enough.”

Sansa turned onto her side to face him, placing her head on the pillow beside his. “Have you done this before? Answered a calling?”

“Only once before. A lovely girl, far to the north of here. She was fierce and independent, but she’d been left behind by her people after an injury left her lame in one leg. She taught me quite a bit, about pride, and sacrifice, and caring.”

Sansa nodded thoughtfully, strangely pleased that whoever had come before her had been good to him, hadn’t abused the kind heart she could so easily fall in love with if she wasn’t careful.

Jon studied her carefully in turn, reaching out to cup her face and stroke his thumb down her cheek. “Do you want to talk as well? Perhaps about whatever it is that’s hurt you so badly?”

She did find herself sharing those hurts with him, not lingering over the topic of Harry so much as telling story after story of her family and the life she’d left behind.  Days became a week, then a fortnight, and then a month as he came and went, always staying close enough to take his night’s rest beside her. Until winter was just on the horizon, and he came to her with sad apology upon his face.

“My pod moved on for warmer waters weeks ago. I’ve already delayed too long. If I stay much longer, I won’t be able to stand the cold.”

She smiled through her heartbreak, wished him well and sent him off with a warm meal made of the simple fare he so enjoyed: bread, cheese, and a spiced fish stew. She deliberately turned her back so she wouldn’t have to watch his head disappear beneath the waves, shielding her face so the wind wouldn’t carry away any of the tears pooling in her eyes.

++

She found the courage to return home in the spring. Contrary to her darkest fears, her parents welcomed her back with open arms. Among her siblings, only Arya was a bit aloof, though it later came to light how much she’d hurt her little sister by leaving without warning or goodbye. Sansa found herself apologizing to the younger girl (and truly meaning the sentiment) for the first time in her living memory, forging a closeness the girls had never known between them. She spent time coming to know the young men Bran and Rickon had grown to be, Robb hovering protectively whenever he could spare the time, even with a wife and children of his own.

It was the tail end of summer when she birthed her son. He was long and pale, with a head full of thick dark hair and eyes that could never settle between the colors of the sea and sky. She named him Jonnel, an old name meaning ‘gift’. For how could she ever be lonely again after such a precious gift?

Still, from time to time, her eyes would stray to the horizon, where the sky met the sea, and she couldn’t help but wonder…maybe, one day…

And then Jonnel would tuck his little hand in hers, and she’d push the thought in the back of her mind, but still the thought remained…

Maybe someday.


	2. Chapter 2

Outside of what was dictated by the propriety she had held so dear, Sansa Stark had never truly been reserved when she was a girl. Even within the restrictions of decorum and protocol, she was expressive and open, wearing her heart on her sleeve. The woman she had become was significantly more guarded, but the most regretful part of the change was that it was only now, at her most reticent, that Arya- sharp, perceptive Arya- could read her. They had lost so much time being so far removed from one another, but that distance had closed since she returned home, and Arya was quick to find that one lingering kernel of sadness, buried beneath the joy Jonnel brought to her life. 

The evening Arya finally gave voice to the questions mulling about her mind since her sister had come home, they were alone together in the kitchen of their family home. Arya was seated up on a counter, legs swinging in a fashion reminiscent of a childhood when they never would have spent time together so peacefully. Sansa was bent over the small copper kettle hanging over the cooking fire, dipping a ladle into cider warmed by the flames to fill two earthenware steins with the steaming drink. 

Arya screwed up her face when offered one of the steins and Sansa rolled her eyes. “I’m very sorry I have naught else but cider to offer, little sister. If you wish for whiskey, you’ll have to seek it from Father.”

Arya scowled at her, accepting the cider. Their father discovering how often she partook of the liquor would be one step closer to him uncovering where she spent the nights she slipped out of her bedroom window. She enjoyed how much closer they had become, but sometimes she regretted that Sansa now knew about her nights at the Brotherhood Tavern, drinking and playing cards. Hot Pie, Lommy, Gendry, they would not be considered acceptable company in their mother’s eyes. Especially when you added characters like Tom of Sevenstreams to the mix.  And speaking of Gendry...Arya could only imagine what might happen if Catelyn and Ned Stark knew what their youngest daughter got up to with a blacksmith’s apprentice in the Brotherhood’s backroom. 

Despite the tease, Arya softened at Sansa’s quiet laugh, gratified that someone other than Jonnel and Robb’s daughters could draw laughter from her solemn sister. She silently followed as Sansa guided them through a side-door to a small sitting room, the product of a more archaic time when audiences with “peasants” were taken far from the main house. The only good part of their great-grandfather being such pretentious arse, in Arya’s opinion, was the beautiful window-seat along the far wall. 

Sansa felt her sister’s eyes on her, as they curled up on opposite sides of the seat. She drew her knees up to her chin, sipping from her cider and enjoying the warmth it offered as she waited for the younger woman to speak. 

“Are you ever going to give me the name of whoever it was that put that sadness in your eyes?”

Sansa cocked an eyebrow. “I would have thought you’d remember his name. He  _ is  _ why I stayed away for so long.”

Stark gray eyes studied her closely, seeing far more than a girl of seven and ten should. “No. You’ve made your peace about Hardyng. This sadness, it’s not born out of pain, it’s more….”

“Longing,” Sansa finished softly. 

“Aye, exactly. Besides,” she added cheekily, determined to do away with the hint of shadows gathering in Sansa’s eyes. “My nephew’s too clever by half to have been fathered by that stupid blond prat.”

“Arya!” Even as she chided the younger for her language, Sansa couldn’t help but smirk at the insult toward her scoundrel of a former lover. She regarded her sister wryly. “Why are you so insistent on knowing?”

“So I can have him hunted down, of course.”

“Of course,” Sansa repeated dryly. If Jon were an ordinary man, she had no doubt Arya would be able to do so, considering the company she kept. Not good ones like her Gendry, but more suspect acquaintances such as...what had been his name? Jack? Jocken? “I’m afraid that will not be possible, nor will it be necessary, but I do appreciate you offering.”

Arya’s brow furrowed. “Sansa, whoever he is, did he hurt you in some way?” She was dubious over her own words, doubtful that Sansa would be so clearly pining for someone who had caused her pain, but she needed to be absolutely certain. 

Sansa immediately shook her head. “No, no, it wasn’t like that at all. It’s just that he was obligated elsewhere, with responsibilities he couldn’t ignore to stay on with me longer than he did.”

Arya’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing but not judging. “Sansa, is he married?” If Jonnel’s mysterious sire was wed elsewhere, she would not judge her sister, but she might string the bastard up by his heels if they ever crossed paths. 

“Not that I know of. Still, family drew him away all the same.” Sansa sighed, debating with herself for a long moment before she decided she wanted  _ some  _ of her secrets, to show her sister that Jonnel’s origin wasn’t a painful memory, just a wistful one. “He’s a fine man, Arya. Brave and gentle and strong.” 

They shared a smile at the memory of their father’s words from years before, when Joffrey Baratheon’s true nature had been revealed and Ned had firmly put an end to Sansa’s first courtship. “He was good to me, at a time when I needed goodness the most. We never made any promises, and I always knew he could not stay. We spent a month together. I let myself believe it would be far too soon for love to come, but my heart had other ideas.”

“Hearts do tend to do that,” Arya replied softly, reaching out to hesitantly rest her hand over Sansa’s, giving it a little pat, feeling more a firm tap than than the typical sympathetic touch. Still, the gesture was gentle, if a little stilted, all the more endearing for Arya’s awkwardness. “But it isn’t broken?”

“No, not any longer. Just a little sore.” Sansa smiled wanly. “It’s a bit bittersweet now, I suppose, but I don’t have any regrets. I was loved by a good man who only wanted to help me find some happiness, however short a time he had to do so.” She paused for a moment, giving Arya’s hand a squeeze, “He gave me Jonnel, and how can you ever regret a gift that precious?”

Arya returned the hand squeeze with a nod of understanding. They sat together in comfortable contemplation for a few moments, before Arya lifted her chin, her mouth quirking into a sly smile. “Is he handsome?”

“Oh, yes.” Sansa leaned in conspiratorially, and as she waxed poetic about stormy eyes, thick dark curls, and a fine swimmer’s physique, she would remember joyfully later that Arya never grew bored or distant, remaining raptly attentive as they truly bonded as sisters for the first time in over a decade. 

++

_ There had been one point during the last night she had with Jon when Sansa had been caught in the hazy medium between sleep and waking, feeling Jon shifting restlessly beside her before he moved to sit up with a sigh. Calloused fingers brushed hair away from her face and lovingly traced the curve of her cheek. “I’d give so much to be able to stay with you,” he breathed wistfully. “If Aegon didn’t need me at his right hand...if only I hated him and didn’t feel the pull of fraternal duty, if I only I didn’t love him so dearly.” _

_ He sighed once more. “I’m certain we’d be happy, you and I. We’d fill this place with love and laughter, perhaps have a few little ones to share our happiness with. Aye, we would have been happy, but you would never leave this place if I stayed, would you, leannán? You would never return home to your loved ones. You’d never heal.” _

_ Warm lips pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, gently as he still believed her asleep. “Call me again someday, leannán, and let it be happy tears you shed into the sea.” _

++

Jonnel was three when Robb and Sansa finally convinced their father that moving further south would be better for the aches and pains of his old war injuries when the bitter cold of winter came. 

Rodrik Cassel and Vayon Poole were plenty competent enough in their crafts to manage Winterfell and the tenant crofts it supported without much Stark oversight, leaving the estate in good hands as Sansa and Robb coaxed the family into moving down to White Harbor. 

The port city was nestled on the southeastern coast, where the sun was seen during the summer months and summer warmth was trapped and held by the ocean currents to make the winters bearable. Autumn came and Ned remained capable and active, his pain eased to a dull ache when winter arrived in turn. 

Spring brought a lively energy to the bustling city, an energy that proved infectious as little Jonnel grew more mobile and independent. As merchants arrived en masse and commerce reawakened, Sansa began taking her restless boy down to the marketplace. 

Jonnel was at her side, contently munching on a pastry, when Sansa became caught up in a barter with a vendor over a bolt of rich blue fabric she was already envisioning as dresses and shirts (to bring out the eyes of all those who had inherited the Tully look). As is wont to happen with even the most attentive of parents at least once in a child’s life, the boy grew bored and slipped his hand from his mother’s, toddling away without Sansa’s immediate notice. 

Her blood froze in her veins the moment she realized his absence, whirling around with her heart in her throat to find Jonnel several feet away. A woman stood before him, bent at the waist to be closer to his level, listening attentively to whatever the toddler was saying. Sansa was hurrying over, uncertain whether the stranger’s fiery red hair was a beacon of danger or reassurance, as Jonnel raised a chubby fist, pointing in her direction. 

Sansa barely managed to hold onto courtesy as she wrapped an arm around Jonnel the moment he was close enough, pressing him flush to her side. Still, as the woman straightened, her lips parted into a wide, genuine smile, revealing a series of crooked white teeth. “Ah, seems yer ma found ye first, lad.”

Sansa nodded gratefully, running a hand through Jonnel’s messy curls. “Yes, thank you.” She looked down at her son sternly. “Jonnel Stark,” Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa saw the other woman give a jolt at the name. She didn’t pay it much mind, the name Stark had a long history in the North. “You know better than to leave my side. You gave Mummy a fright.”

Jonnel’s eyes, contarily settled on a familiar stormcloud gray today despite the fair weather, widened in distress at the thought of upsetting his mother. His bottom lips trembled and he wrapped himself around her leg, burying his face in her skirts. “Sowwy, Mummy.”

“All’s well, my darling. Thank you for listening to Mummy.” Jonnel nodded, but still either sheepish or shy, he kept his face hidden. Sansa continued to soothingly stroke his hair. Looking up, she met the pair of blue-grey eyes intently studying her and her son, feeling much less threatened now that her son was in her arms. 

The other woman was over a head shorter than Sansa herself, but lean and sinewy as a whipcord. Her wind-burnt cheeks and the oilskin and furs she wore despite the warm weather marked her as part of the far-northern whaler crews coming south for the spring market. Her eyes dropped to Jonnel a few more times, lips curving into a soft, wistful smile as she spoke again, her tone reflecting the same feelings. 

“I knew he would make beautiful children. I nearly asked our man from the sea for a little one of my own, but it wasn’t to be.”

As her words went on, Sansa froze, faltering for a reply for a pregnant moment. “I...how did you…”

The whaler arched an eyebrow. “Yer lad’s the very image of him. I’d be foolish not to see it.” Watching Sansa’s arms tighten protectively around her son, her face softened. “I’ve no wish to harm yer boy, lass. If my character suddenly changed so sharply that I would do harm to a wee one, I certainly wouldn’t start with the babe of a man I loved so dearly.”

Sansa relaxed, instead feeling the stirrings of empathetic camaraderie that could only come when two souls were connected by caring for another. “I’m sorry, I just...I have to be careful with him.”

The other woman nodded understandingly, lowering her voice. “Aye, I can only imagine, with as strong as the blood is in that one.” She looked back down at Jonnel with another fond smile. “I won’t ever say a word, I swear.”

“Thank you,” Sansa replied softly. 

The whaler nodded, her eyes intent as she studied Sansa. “Ye didn’t trap him- he’d be with ye if ye had. It says all ye need about yer character that ye let him free, lass.”

“You didn’t trap him either,” Sansa confirmed. “Would you...would you like to walk back with us, Ygritte?”

Ygritte was visibly pleased that Jon had obviously told Sansa about her, and she gratefully accepted the offer. As they slowly walked along, talking quietly among themselves, Jonnel grew more animated the more bored he grew of adult conversation, forgetting his discomfort in favor of bouncing along from booth to booth, charming small sweets and baubles out of merchants and kept safe by the keen gazes of the two red-haired women watching his every move. 

They shared in common that neither had seen Jon since the final parting after the calling. Sansa was envious to learn that Ygritte had had four months with Jon, a full summer as opposed to Sansa’s sole month, Ygritte was quick to counter that she had been only recently lamed in the leg when she first met Jon, and the selkie had been determined to help her regain her ability to swim lest she accidently drown in her frustration. Besides, the whaler pointed out, Jon hadn’t left  _ her  _ with a precious memento like the one their eyes were resting upon. 

Both curious and empathetic, Sansa couldn’t help but ask why Ygritte hadn’t asked for a similar gift of her own. 

Ygritte smiled wistfully as they watched a fascinated Jonnel being shown pieces of seaglass jewelry by a grandmotherly shopkeeper. “It was tempting, I’ll tell ye. But as much as Jon could ease my pain, he couldn’t go the repairing of my heart for me. That was something I had to finish myself. It wouldn’t have been fair to try for a bairn I couldn’t give my whole heart to.”

Sansa nodded with understanding, the two of them walking along in silence a while longer before Ygritte pulled a wrapped parcel out of her oilskin satchel, handing it out to Sansa. Sansa unwrapped the offering, brows arching with surprise as she took in the details of the gift. The parcel contained two beautifully carved toys, the first a spinning top made of alternating bands of dark wood and whalebone, supported by a central whalebone shaft and a walrus tusk handle. The second was a ball and cup toy made of whalebone and ivory, delicate scrimshaw of waves and marine animals weaving its way up the toy’s slender handle. 

They were beautiful, the kind of intricate and well-made that Sansa was certain had taken a significant portion of the long winter to finish. She took in a shaky breath and looked back up at Ygritte. “They’re wonderful, Ygritte, but we couldn’t possibly accept them. You worked so hard, you must have intended to sell them today.”

“I did,” Ygritte replied simply. “But this is more important. I’d like yer Jonnel to have them, if ye would.”

“Of course.” She carefully rewrapped the toys, giving the other woman a warm smile, a significant look passing between them that spoke more with what was left unsaid than what they could hope to successfully put into words. 

“Ygritte!” The yell resounded through the air, Sansa’s head turning toward the source just as Jonnel bounded back to her side. An impossibly tall man with a large bushy beard of grey-streaked ginger had been the one to bellow. “Are ye coming, girl, or do you want t’ dawdle with the southerners? We’re shipping out in an hour.”

“Aye, Tormund, ye ornery auld goat, I’m coming!” Ygritte called back. “Keep yer furs on, auld man.”

Tormund scowled beneath the impressive facial hair, crossing his arms across his barrel chest. A slender blonde woman, beautiful even from a distance and dressed in all white, appeared at his side, snickering at Ygritte’s comments. “If he’s ever right about anything, Ygritte, it’s the dawdling,” she crowed with delight. “I couldn’t do without ye, and the way your japes can prick at his pride!”

Ygritte chuckled, and looking back at Sansa with a twinkle in her eye, the two women moved by unspoken agreement to meet in a brief embrace. “Be happy,” Ygritte said into her ear, “And keep the little lad safe. I hope that stubborn selkie finds ye again. He’ll make a fine father if he gives himself the chance.”

Sansa hefted a flagging Jonnel onto her hip, the boy exhausted from the excitement of his afternoon. His head lolled onto her shoulder as his mother watched Ygritte walk away, the slight limp to her step supported by a well-made leather brace. The blonde threw a companionable arm around her shoulders when Ygritte drew close enough, the snarky redhead and Tormund beginning to bicker as the trio strolled out of sight, disappearing into the crowd in the direction of the harbor. Sansa smiled softly, fingering the parcel of toys before tucking them safely into her shawl. Adjusting the eschewed cap on Jonnel’s dark head, Sansa turned toward home, humming softly under her breath as she made plans to present her son with the toys once he finished his nap. 

++

One afternoon in the early summer, the entire family went down for a picnic on the beach. There was joy and laughter to be found as the children romped about the sand with Arya and Rickon, easing into peace and contentment with a lazy lunch, seashell hunting, and Robb, Sansa, and Jeyne carefully letting their little ones splash in the languid waves lapping against the sand.

After lunch, Robb and Jeyne’s oldest, Rickara, teamed up with Arya to dunk Rickon in the shallows. Catelyn lay on a blanket beneath the shade of the canopy, quietly discussing the open book in her hands with Bran, reclined beside her. Jeyne and Ned were exploring nearby tide pools with Jonnel and the cousin closest to his age, Aregelle. Sansa delicately sat down on the sand beside Robb, watching as her brother rocked his youngest, Jocelyn, into an afternoon nap. 

The siblings sat together for a time in companionable silence, alternating between watching their children and their siblings. Running his fingers through his daughter’s auburn curls, Robb contemplatively studied his sister. Feeling the weight of his gaze, Sansa turned her head toward him inquiringly. 

“Are you happy, Sans?”

Sansa hesitated for a moment, rolling the question over in her mind. “I’m not...unhappy.”

Robb smiled wanly, clearly not surprised by her answer. “I know Mother’s mentioned marriage, and I have the feeling you weren’t pleased with the idea.”

“I’m not opposed to the intentions behind the whole thing, just the formality of the mess. Mother and Father both are certain to be scandalized if they realized what I would prefer.”

“What would that be?”

Sansa thought of the way she had pointedly ignored her heavy heart earlier that day at seeing how fascinated Jonnel was with the sea, how she was still wondering how long she had until he answered the call of his blood and she lost her boy. “I don’t want a husband, Robb, but I would like another child, when Jonnel is a bit older. The fact that I wouldn’t want to marry their father, there lies the scandal.”

Robb blinked in surprise and then laughed, softly as not to wake his sleeping daughter. “I think you’re already a scandal enough, Sans. But you’re not the only one. Jeyne’s grandfather being a merchant is supposed to make her below me. Arya likes to think what she gets up to at that pub is a well-kept secret,  but I’m half-certain our parents are practicing plausible deniability. Whatever you choose, I’ll always support you.”

Sansa leaned into his side and rested her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, Robb. It might take some time, however. There’s some….aspects of such a plan that I’m not yet comfortable with.”

Robb hummed thoughtfully, turning his head to kiss her temple. “I can imagine. Makes me ill to picture myself in anyone’s bed but Jeyne’s. You truly loved him, didn’t you...Jonnel’s sire?”

“I did.” Ordinarily, the thought of Jon was bittersweet but not painful, but combined with her fears about Jonnel, the memories left a leaden weight in her chest and the telltale prick of incoming tears. Taking in a shuddering breath, she raised herself up onto shaky legs. “I need...I need a moment.”

Robb nodded, eyes warm with compassionate understanding. “Of course. Take your time, Sans. We’ll be here.”

Comfortable in the knowledge that the family was safe and occupied, Jonnel especially, Sansa walked a short distance away, close to the waterline but out of immediate hearing distance. Her back to her loved ones, she freely let the tears fall, a warm breeze tenderly kissing them away as the zephyr flowed out over the sea. “Gods help me, I’ve tried so hard not to be selfish. But I miss you so- I feel my heart might break every time I think too deeply, every time I look at our beautiful boy and realize how much you’ve missed of his life. I don’t want to be selfish, Jon, but gods, I want you here.”

“It’s not selfish if I’ve been wishing the same,” a tender voice sounded from nearby. 

Sansa froze. A lump rose in her throat, blood roaring in her ears as her mind raced, struggling to process what she was hearing. She was torn between believing the words were a wishful phantom of her longing heart, and suspecting she would turn around to see the speaker was familiar but not the one she longed to hear from. Still, when she finally found the strength to turn around, finding the object of her yearning standing there was the last thing she truly expected to find, dripping wet and nude save for a piece of patchwork sailcloth wrapped around his waist, something he must have salvaged from the beach given its condition. His eyes were bright, lips curved up into a hopeful smile. 

A riptide of emotions rushed through her- confusion, hope, joy, relief, and finally the restraint of not rushing immediately into his arms became too much, as his hand raised, visibly shaking with a fine tremble, to tentatively cup her cheek. “Sansa…”

The last bit of resistance within Sansa fell away, and she threw herself into his arms. They fit together as seamlessly as they had three years before, her body exploding with a long-denied contentment as she felt his breath, his heartbeat, his warmth. “Jon, you’re finally here.”

Jon pressed close in turn, dropping kisses to her cheek and neck. “I’m here, Sansa. I’m here, love.”

He turned his head to bring their lips together. The kiss was soft, gentle as a whisper, and the world came to a standstill, the very core of her being rocked from the extremity of feeling that came from that one simple kiss. She trembled as she slid her hands to his shoulders, his strong arms wrapping around her.  _ Don’t ever leave me again _ , she begged in her mind, though she realized she had spoken aloud when he fervently responded. 

“The gods themselves couldn’t drag me away.”

This time, the strength had to be found to detach from one another even if ever so slightly, Sansa taking her lover’s hand to begin leading him up the beach, heedless of her gaping family. “Come meet your son, Jon.”

++

A year passed until the family ventured back north, and as eager as Sansa was to show her lover and her son the place she had grown up (now that Jonnel was old enough to remember), she was equally intent to show Jon alone one place in particular: the private hot springs. 

The moon rose high as they made their way to the pools, bathing them in her silver glow as they shed their clothing and eagerly approached the water. Jon lingered a moment to watch his graceful lover slide down the bank, the water rising up to meet her and envelop her in its warmth. She dipped her head back to wet her hair, the water sealing over her ears until the distant sounds of Winterfell were chased away by the hot spring’s burbling song. Consequently, she missed the subtle sound of the pool’s stillness breaking, startled into when a warm, wet, silky form twisted around her. 

A silver-furred head breached the surface, large grey eyes gleaming with mischief. “Jon!” she protested, though any real censure was lost in her amusement, sending a splash in his direction. Jon dived beneath the wave she sent over, letting out a happy bark as he resurfaced. 

They played about that way for a while longer, her laughter intermingling in the air with the sounds of splashing and Jon’s occasional joyful grunts and barks. Jon bobbed and weaved through the water with streamlined grace, circling and twisting around her. 

His fur was soft and silky against her skin, and she thought nothing of it when he affectionately rubbed his head against her stomach and legs, but when he attempted to nudge his cold nose between her thighs, she jumped and yelped in protest. “Oh, no you don’t, boyo. Not in that skin.”

Jon dipped once more beneath the water and a dark head of hair reemerged a moment later, grey eyes sheepish and apologetic. “I’m sorry, leannán. I lost myself a bit to the instinct of it all.”

Sansa was bewildered. “What could be instinctual about such a thing?”

If anything, Jon looked even more rueful. “I...the seal can smell your fertile time,” he admitted awkwardly. “He wanted a closer sniff to be certain.”

Feeling she should at least be a fraction as uncomfortable as her lover, Sansa instead found herself intrigued. She waded closer until she was just before him, looping her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek, Jon relaxing against her. “Is it just the seal that wants to see me with child once more, or is it the man as well?”

As Jon blushed and stammered out an unintelligible reply, Sansa waited patiently for him to regain his composure, soothingly stroking his back. She felt the raised ridges and edges of the scars residing there, remnants of the civil war that had kept him away from her and Jonnel for so long, fighting for his older brother’s rightful place against violent interlopers known as Blackfyre. Now their kin, human and selkie alike, were all at peace, and with Jon having earned himself a comfortable living in White Harbor as an expert diver with an almost preternatural knack for finding shipwrecks and lost cargo, perhaps it was time to consider expanding their family ranks.

Jon sighed softly, shaking his head with a sheepish smile as he gave her a brief kiss. “Jonnel is a gift I never thought I would have the joy to have. But I’ve gotten greedy now, and I’ve been wanting to expound on that joy. So aye, my love, it’s the man who wants another babe as well.”

Sansa drew him closer into another kiss, lingering and deep. “Silly selkie, did you ever stop to consider I wanted that as well?”

A certain silly selkie gave her an equally silly grin, a grin she would see him make year after year when his strong arms lowered their children into the hot spring’s comforting waters and pale Northern skin shifted into silvery fur for the first time, to the delight of father and child alike. 


End file.
